


Master Of Puppets

by charlie4short



Series: Dean's Hell [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arson, Blood and Torture, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Burns, Caning, Cock & Ball Torture, Consensual Sex, Crucifixion, Dean Gives Oral Sex, Dean Winchester Whump, Dean in Hell, Dean in a Suit, F/M, Fire, Heavy BDSM, Hell Fic, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kinbaku, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Orgasm, Past Sexual Abuse, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Sex Toy Dean, Shibari, Smut, Sounding, Spanking, Succubi & Incubi, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-29 19:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13933806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlie4short/pseuds/charlie4short
Summary: Somewhere around year 25 of Dean's forty years in Hell, Alastair resorted to using succubi and incubi to increase the amount of psychological torture he was able to inflict on his favorite toy.  'Cubi can access thoughts and memories, and they can bring a person's consciousness to another plane of existence, bringing an extra level of reality to each situation that Dean was forced to endure.This is straight-up porn, folks.  Some is consensual, most is not.  It's porn with a plot, but only if you read it as a part of the other work in this series, "Forty Years".Enjoy, and don't say you weren't warned!





	1. Alastair's Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [User24601](https://archiveofourown.org/users/User24601/gifts).



* * *

 

“I need to borrow a few more incubi.  Or succubi, or a mix. Whatever you’ve got.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”  Lucifer leaned forward, eyes flashing, a universe of pain threatened in his tone.

Alastair took an involuntary step backwards before dropping to one knee, bowing his head.  “Pardon me, sire. I have an idea, and I got carried away. Please forgive me.”

Lucifer settled  back, mollified. “What do you want, Alastair?”  he drawled, as if to a selfish teen that he’d long grown tired of.

“I have a plan for breaking the Righteous Man, Sire, but I will need a few additional succubi.”  He risked a glance at his master. “Would you like to hear about it?”

Lucifer thrummed his fingers on the armrest, trying to work up some enthusiasm for a project that had been dragging on for decades.  

He sighed, rolling his eyes.  “I’m tired of the constant reports of your failures.  I’ll give you the ‘cubi, you bring me a win, that’s all I need to hear.”

Alastair made is if to rise.  Lucifer flicked his hand, flattening the demon to the ground.  “I wasn’t finished.”

“Sorry, Sire,” Alastair gasped against the suffocating force.

“If I give you the ‘cubi and you don’t break him, I get your ass in my bed every night until I’m tired of you.  Got it?”

Alastair paled.  

There was no way to refuse.  Not and stay alive.

“Yes, Sire.”

Lucifer released his hold.  “Good. Now go.” He made a brushing motion, and Alastair scrambled to make it through the heavy wooden doors before they crushed him in their fold.

 

* * *

  
  


Alastair assembled his group.  “You have your targets, and you all know the scenario.  Now go.”

He turned to the matte black incubus currently poised, salivating in anticipation, over Dean.  “This is your last chance, Incubus. Get it right.”

Black lips parted over equally dark teeth.  The creature lowered its gaze, watching the sharpened obsidian of its talons dig into its victim’s skull once more.

  
  



	2. Cassie Robinson

* * *

 

“Hey, baby.”  

Cassie’s breath tingled along his skin, and her husky voice sent him from flaccid to fully erect in the space of a heartbeat.

“Cass?”  

Soft cloth covered his eyes, and his body refused to obey his command to move.

“Shhhhh.”  She held her lips against him.  “I get to be in the driver’s seat this time, remember?”  She straddled him, naked thighs against his equally bare hips, and he moaned.  “You promised you’d let me.”

 

_ Not happening not real I’m in Hell this can’t be real _

 

Her mouth covered his, as hot and sweet as it had always been, and he licked up into her, nearly crying at the sensation.

 

_ Fuck it.  I deserve this. _

 

As if he had spoken out loud, Cassie lost her timidity.  She lowered her hips, not impaling herself on him -- not yet -- but coming close enough to taunt him with her heat.

He tried to arch up -- _ I’m ready.  So ready. _ \-- but found that he could not move.

She chuckled into his still-open mouth before sucking greedily at his tongue.  

Her  hands roamed his body, reveling in his nakedness.

 

His powerlessness.

 

Everything she touched came alive, straining after her, wanting more.

Her mouth followed her hands, lips and tongue and teeth exploring him, urged on by his nearly continuous gasps and groans.

By the time she reached his groin he was trembling, body tight with need.

She poised, moistening the air over  his skin with her hot breath.

“ _Please_ …”  His groan was desperate, nearly pained.

She lowered her mouth over him, engulfing the head of his cock --

 

And just kept going, taking his shaft down to the base, then sucking in both testicles, stretching over the root of him, tongue extending to lie against the puckered skin of his anus, and Dean gave an involuntary shout, the exquisite pleasure of it nearly overwhelming his senses.

 

_ How is she doing that? _

 

She pressed down, saliva flowing to coat him, and swallowed.

He shuddered, biting back another shout.  “Please, Cass! Please!” He struggled to hold off his orgasm, not ready for this to end, needing to relish this just a little bit longer before Alastair came back and made him forget what pleasure was.

She hummed, the vibrations knifing through him, and he ground his teeth as fireworks went off in his head. 

 

_ Not yet not yet hold off not yet _

 

She moved, mouth sliding off of him until only the head of his cock and a few inches of his shaft remained inside of her. Her hands, slick with saliva and some other lubricant, filled the void.

One palm circled his cock, stroking up and down with the motion of her mouth.  The other caressed and kneaded his scrotum, his ass, and everything in between.

“Cass -- please!”  If he could move, he would pull her away, stop the maddening bliss before he lost control, bring her to the same state she had sucked him into before burying himself in her tight, wet heat --

She had been pressing a fingertip against his opening, and as he imagined penetrating her, his body relaxed, allowing her entrance.

He tensed immediately, fear over-riding pleasure.  “No! Don’t!”

“Shhhh.”  She leaned up, not removing either hand, and licked his lips.  “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

Dean furrowed his brow --  _ Her voice.  Not her voice.  _

But she had left something on his mouth, and he snaked his tongue out, removing the sticky substance he found, viscous fluid that felt and tasted like honey.

 

With that his fear was gone, pleasurable sensations ramping even higher, and he shuddered out a low moan.  

“Please, Cassie.  Please.”

She chuckled --  _ too deep, ‘s not her _ \-- but her hands and her mouth moved, finger circling something inside of him that sent electric bolts of agonizing pleasure through his body, and it didn’t matter who she was or who he was or where they were or whether it was real. All that mattered was that mouth, those hands, that finger --

 

Dean’s back arched, head thrown back, arms cording against their restraints as a desperate shout ground its way past his clenched teeth, body nearly convulsing with the strength of his orgasm.

 

The incubus riding him shuddered along with him.

 

Alastair, standing off to the side, fingers fisted into the oily locks of the demon kneeling at his feet, did the same.


	3. Bobby

* * *

 

 

Dean quivered, riding the aftershocks of what he was sure was the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced.

“Cassie....Cass.”  He tried and failed to shift his hips, to move away from her.  “‘S too much, Cass. Gimme a second.”

Soft fingertips were replaced with something sharp, and he hissed in a breath.  “Cass, stop. Please.”

Teeth scraped the length of his shaft, a sharp agony that set his teeth on edge.  “C’mon, babe. Please. You know I’m too sensitive right after.”

Something that felt like stinging nettles abraded the raw flesh over his prostate, teeth sinking into his deflating cock simultaneously, and Dean screamed, short and harsh.

Alastair chuckled.  “Good morning, _babe_ ,” he lisped in a parody of seduction.  “I’d ask what you’d like today, but I already have plans for you.”  He stepped back, removing Dean’s blindfold.

 

It became a coil of rope in calloused, grease-stained hands.

 

“Bobby.”  Dean caught himself, stifling the relief that threatened to drown him.   _Not real.  ‘S not him._  “Fuck you, Alastair.  I know that ain’t him.”

The low chuckle from the older hunter’s chest resonated in Dean’s.  “It won’t be his body, Dean, but it will be his soul. An incubus is with him right now, mixing Bobby’s fantasies with my own.”  Alastair held the looped hemp aloft. “He will feel and remember, Dean.” The demon paused, an exaggerated expression of thoughtfulness crossing his face.  “Unless you’d rather take up my blade?”

The muscles in Dean’s jaw jumped, and he squeezed his eyes closed tightly.   _I”m sorry, Bobby.  I’m sorry._

 

* * *

  


Dean swung gently, sweating in the chill room.

 

Saliva dripped to the floor.

 

The knot of coarse rope in his mouth was too large, too intrusive to swallow around.

He could feel each individual tendril as it crossed his face, a hemp mask in a diamond pattern, strands converging like a spider’s web, the knot its proud egg sac.

The rope pulled his head back, almost to the point of discomfort, but not quite.

The web continued, individual tresses braided to form thick bands that looped across the top of his chest, beneath his arms, around his deltoids, crossing behind his back.

The rough fibers snaked between his pectoral muscles, carefully placed knots pressing into the sensitive flat of his breastbone.

The rope curved, worshipping his sculpted flesh as it followed Dean’s contours: chest, around to his back, knots running down his spine, tied to filaments paralleling each rib, all joining to travel down the smooth plane of his lower back before twisting together to run between his legs.

One precisely placed tie rested insistently against the puckered bud of his anus, the strands dividing from there to constrict his scrotum and the base of his forcibly engorged penis before criss-crossing over his pubic bone, then slanting off to join the coils pinning his thighs to his calves, snaking around his ankles, weaving between his toes before suspending him, face down, knees spread, from the ceiling.

His arms were likewise entwined behind his back, biceps and triceps corded and shining with perspiration, elbows united by thick coils, forearms decorated in an intricate restraint.  Palms facing outward, hemp gloving his fingers individually before rising to the ceiling.

Each knot, each fiber, precisely placed with specific intent:  to sensitize him. To spread him out, put him on display. To render him helpless, vulnerable, and utterly humiliated.

Bobby smiled as he fastened the final tie.  “Perfect.”

Dean closed his eyes, and let the tears fall.

 


	4. Rhonda Hurley

* * *

 

 

“Wow, Dean.  I’m impressed.”  

He opened his eyes.  A young woman stood before him, hands on her hips.  Her smile was far from innocent, but neither was it malicious.  

_ Rhonda _ .  It had only been a few years, and he recognized her easily.

“Did I set something off when I made you wear those panties?”  She stepped closer, fingertips trailing across a section of skin cinched between strands of hemp.  “Open your eyes to the world of kink?”

He had not been able to swallow since the knot had been forced between his teeth, and his throat was too dry to even begin to make a sound.

He closed his eyes.  _  I just want to be done. _

She moved around him, fingers trailing, bumping over loops of rope to fall back onto overly sensitive skin.

He shuddered as she stepped behind him, between his spread thighs, and touched the knot she found there.

“Wow.  Whoever did this is a genius.  It must have taken hours.”

 

_ Let me go.  Please. _

 

But he knew that if she did, it would only lead to something worse.

She traced the rope as it left the knot to travel between the cheeks of his ass before joining others knotted along his spine.  Then she returned to that special rosette of hemp, this time tracing beneath him, first following the strands that ringed him, then cupping his painfully engorged genitalia, sending sharp bites of discomfort through him that set his teeth on edge.

“I don’t remember you being quite this big,” she observed, and he realized from the direction of her voice that she had knelt beneath his suspended form.  “Then again, you were still a growing boy.” Manicured nails scraped along the purpling skin of his scrotum, and his muscles convulsed in a failed attempt at pulling away.

 

_ Too much. It’s too much.  Please don’t. _

 

But she couldn’t hear him, wouldn’t have cared if she had.  The torment continued, extending up the underside of his penis.  “And I never did anything like  _ this  _ to you.  Didn’t have that much imagination back then.”

Then her hands were on his hips, digging into flesh and rope, and her mouth was on him, an electric misery --

 

_ No stop hurts please _

 

And he tried to move, was thrashing and writhing in his mind

 

_ Please stop please please  _  degrading into a blank agony

 

The ropes allowing no motion, no respite

 

A muffled, staccato keening the only voluntary act Dean was capable of performing.

 

She released him with a low chuckle.  “This is amazing.”

She followed the ropes.  Traced exposed skin with sharpened nails and pointed tongue.  Ground knots into sensitized flesh, laughing when he grunted out his pain.

 

And when Dean had finally found a way to force this level of agony down, to exist through it, Rhonda produced a thin rod.

 

She applied it to the larger areas left untouched by hemp: his upper arms.  Abdomen. Across his nipples. Lower back, bare buttocks. The insides of his thighs.  The soles of his feet.

Each stroke a line of fire, spaced perfectly so that one would reach full intensity and start to wane just as the next one landed

Burning so insistently that he couldn’t breathe through it

Couldn’t breath at all

 

_ Get away can’t get away stop please stop _

 

And the blows kept coming, fire spreading to cover every inch of him

Until it couldn’t get any worse, there was no intact skin left to mar

And then she knelt, forcing something into the slit in his cock at the same time that she pressed forcefully on the knot at his anus

And molten pain erupted 

Consuming him

Forcing him to abandon his body

Mind gone 

 

Exploding into nothing.

  
  



	5. Gordon Walker

* * *

 

“Dean Winchester.  As I live and breathe.”

 

_ Gordon _ .

 

“Oh, wait: I  _ don’t  _ live and breathe, do I?” He squatted, eyes level with those of the bound man.  “Your brother saw to that, didn’t he, Dean?”

Gordon watched him, searching for some sort of reaction.

 

“Damn.  Got you trussed up so tight, you can barely even blink!”  Gordon’s teeth flashed brightly in the somber light. He patted Dean on the head.  Noting the tightening around the other hunter’s eyes, Gordon chuckled. “Hey, where is that brother of yours, anyway?”  He made a show of standing up, looking around. “Oh, that’s right! He’s not here! You sold your soul for him, didn’t you?”  He lowered himself once more, running his thumb along Dean’s stretched and cracking lower lip. “I bet you really miss him, huh?  I mean, you two: joined at the freakin’ hip!” HIs eyes roamed over Dean’s face. “Mighty close, you boys. Always together.” He pulled out a folding knife, flicked it open.  “You musta taken care of each other -- in every way possible. Sure didn’t leave room for anyone else to do it.” He slid the blade beneath one strand of rope, not caring that he caught skin as well.  “Shame to fill that mouth with some nasty old strings.” The knot loosened. He moved to another section. “Bet you miss having your brother’s dick in there, don’t you?” Fibers parted, and the knot began to unravel.

 

Gordon worked it free.

 

Before the relief of being able to move his tongue and jaw, to swallow, had a chance to register, Gordon struck, shattering Dean’s mandible.

The unmistakable crack of snapping bone drove through Dean’s skull, carrying with it a new anguish, its black ache swelling and receding, and he chased after it, praying for a way to drown.

“Lemme just see what I can do for you, there, Dean.  Help you not miss your baby brother so much.”

Strong fingers gripped Dean’s jaw, compressing flesh and bone, drawing an inarticulate cry from the tortured man.

Gordon fed his erect cock into the hunter’s mouth, shifting his grip to the framework of rope wrapping around the man’s head, bracing himself.

 

He kept his eyes on Dean’s face as he drove forward with his hips, burying himself to the root in one brutal thrust.

 

Dean gagged, body convulsing, and Gordon shuddered.  “Yeah. Oh, yeah.”

He drew back, slamming forward, repeating the motion  even when Dean vomited around him. “Suck it, baby. Take it.”

Tears and snot coated the younger man’s face, his coughing and retching constant.

Gordon gave one final thrust, pressing himself deep, flattening Dean’s nose against his abdomen, smothering him.

 

Dean swallowed convulsively, fighting for breath --  _ drowning fucking drowning in jizz lemme die please lemme die _

 

Gordon pulled away, bending double, dropping his forehead to Dean’s.  Hot breath stuttered across Dean’s face as the demon rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Dean’s abdomen contracted, spilling bile from his nose and mouth.

Gordon straightened, patting his toy on the cheek.  “Hooo-whheee.” He squeezed himself hard, bringing a pearl of white to the tip of his cock, eyes rolling back as a tremor worked through him.  

 

He relaxed, panting.  “And your brother got to do that whenever he wanted?”  Gordon shook his head. “Lucky boy.”

 

He moved along Dean’s side, fingering the raw stripes between loops of hemp.  “You know what I been dreamin’ about ever since I heard you were here?” He slapped his palm sharply across the bare flesh of Dean’s ass, then gripped one firm globe, shaking it.  “This, right here.” He stepped between the younger man’s spread thighs, gripping his exposed ass cheeks, alternately rubbing and kneading them.

 

_ No no  no no not this no please god no don’t don’tdon’t _

 

Dean’s mind screamed, but he made no sound.

“Look at this little knot, all perfect for gettin’ you ready.”

 

The knife reappeared.

 

Dean felt the sharp tip scrape along the too soft skin of his inner thigh.  The sensation was lost as the blade contacted rope, following it up the crack of his ass.

It slid, flat beneath the hemp, then rotated on its axis, sawing until this knot, too, came free.

 

There had been a time when Dean would have begged to have that particular discomfort removed from his bindings, but now, all he wanted was for its protective abrasiveness to return.

 

Gordon moved closer, skin hot against the coolness of Dean’s naked thighs.

He spit on Dean’s rope-burned sphincter, then rubbed the ball of his thumb over it.

 

_ Burns burns don’t please don’t no no nononononono _

 

The thick digit punched into him, startling a short whine from Dean’s throat.

Gordon chuckled, low and deep.  “Man, I can feel how hard you’re tryin’ to get away, Dean.  You can’t move at all, can you?”

Dean swallowed the sharp burn that accompanied the abrupt removal of the man’s thumb from his ass, willing to accept that pain in return for an end to the violation.

Gordon was in front of him once more, completely nude.

He held a conical device in his hand.

“Had this made just for you, Dean-o.”  

He moaned as he fitted the sleeve over his erection.  “Lubed it up already,” he explained, working his testicles through the ring at the thing’s base.

The head of his cock protruded from the end, and he stroked it, eyes slitting in an expression of bliss.

“You ever pet a porcupine, Dean?”

 

_ What the fuck is he talking about? _

 

Gordon slid his hand down his covered penis, resting it at the base.  “You go one direction, and it’s all good. But go the other direction -- “ he moved his hand less than an inch, and row after row of pointed hooks shot up.  “It’s like those spikes you can drive over in one direction, but not the other. Pretty ingenious, right?”

He stepped forward quickly, cupping the back of Dean’s head to drive his enhanced phallus down the hunter’s throat, pulling out slowly, eyes on Dean’s face.

Dean coughed out a muted cry of pain as blood threatened to choke him, cool in contrast to the sharp burn of the dozens of hooked blades that shredded the inside of his mouth, his tongue, his lips.

Gordon removed himself from the tattered remains of Dean’s oral cavity.

His sheath ran crimson.  “Thanks, buddy. Just needed the lube.”

He stepped between Dean’s legs once more.

 

_ No Gordon please don’t please _

 

“Too late to beg, Dean.  Shouldn’ta let your brother kill me.”

White hot agony as Gordon slammed into him, and then he was screaming, a desperate and wild sound that never reached his ears, mind entirely overcome by extreme torment as barbed hooks caught on exquisitely tender flesh, tearing and rending before the demon drove his hips forward again, merciless friction against burning mucosa, with enough force to knock the wind from Dean’s lungs, silencing him abruptly, only to have the mindless shrieking resume as Gordon once again withdrew, blood now running freely, and the anguish was too much to bear, yet Dean  _ was  _ bearing it, because this was Hell and there was no blacking out, no dying, no escape in Hell --

 

“You can take my blade,” came the sibilant whisper, the promise of escape having a nearly erotic effect on the pain-crazed hunter.

 

_ Can’t can’t I can’t  _

_ make it stop please Alastair please _

 

Cold light glinted from the razor in Alastair’s fingers as he rotated it before Dean’s sightless eyes.  “Take it, Dean. Take it, and I’ll let you use it on him.” 

 

But the man was too far gone to see that he was being given a shot at revenge, his entire soul condensed to that singular horror, transcendent in its purity, rendering him capable of nothing more than one unending howl of misery so that all his master heard was a hopeless and agonized 

“ _Nnnnooooooooooooo_!”

  
  



	6. Bela Talbot

* * *

 

 

“Dean.”

 

Gentle fingers traced through his sweat-damp hair, and he shuddered.   _No more.  Please._

“I’m not going to hurt you, Dean.  Promise.”

 

_Did I say that out loud?_

 

“Would you like me get you out of these bindings?”

Tears pricked his tightly closed eyes.   _She won’t.  It’s a trick._

He felt her move to stand behind him, and he nearly vomited.   _Don’t please don’t can’t please_

A few hard tugs and one leg fell, numb toes striking the ground.  The other followed, and Dean screamed through gritted teeth, first at the nauseating tear through his shoulders as his lower body dropped, weight supported only by his arms; then at the maddening sensation of pins and needles as his legs unfolded and circulation was restored to oxygen-starved tissues.

 

His arms were freed, and he fell hard, landing on his sternum.

 

He writhed, unable to breathe, a swarm of centipedes racing across his skin, needle-sharp feet stabbing into every fiber of his being.

 

She was there, rubbing, kneading, and everywhere she touched the sensation intensified.

He tried to get away, but his limbs refused to obey, the electric agony firing randomly and insistently and it was awful,  and he rocked and cried and writhed and pleaded and it went on an on and on

 

Until it ended, leaving him weak and aching and nauseous, drenched in sweat.

 

“This isn’t how I wanted it to be with us, Dean.”

She held his hand in both of hers, stroking it soothingly.

“Bela?”  His voice was wrecked, and he although he turned his tear-streaked face toward her, he did not open his eyes.

“Yes, Dean.  The Hellhounds came for me.  Remember?”

 

_I’m sorry._

 

He didn’t know if he’d spoken out loud, but he meant to.

“It’s alright,” she soothed, and her fingers were back in his hair, his head cradled in her lap.  “There was nothing you could have done.”

 

_Still sorry.  I should have tried.  I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this. I didn’t know.  I’m sorry, Bela._

 

“Shhh, shh, shhh.  It’s alright, Dean.  How can you cry for me, after all that I did to you?”

 

 _Did I say all of that?  Thought it was in my head._  “You -- “  he cleared his throat.  “You weren’t that bad. Jus’ scared.  Did what you had to do.”

“You...you knew?”

He struggled to pull the tattered remnants of his soul back into some semblance of ‘Dean’.  “Knew what?”

Fingers on his temples, nails biting in --

 

* * *

  


And he was inside a young girl.

 

She sat on the edge of her bed, silent tears wetting her cheeks.

 

_Something’s coming, and she knows what it is, and she’s afraid._

 

A man appeared.  Older than the girl.   _Her father?_

“Are you ready, Abbie?”

 _I can’t do this!_ The girl’s voice, sobbing in Dean’s head.

Her fear became his own.

The man entered fully, closing the door behind him.

He pulled the chair away from her vanity, seating himself so that he was facing her.

He patted his lap.  “Come now. No need to make it worse for yourself.”

 

_I don’t make it worse!  You do!_

 

She crossed to him.

Dean could feel her trembling.

 

 _Enough! I get it!_  He didn’t want to see anymore.

 

She moved to lower herself, and her father stopped her.  “Knickers down, Abbie.”

She sobbed.   _Mother!  Why won’t you stop him?_

He watched her, stroking himself through his trousers.

She waited for him to move his hand before crawling across to position her bare bottom over his thighs.

 

What he did to her after that was not a spanking, but it was certainly a punishment.

At least for her.

 

* * *

  


Bela retracted her talons, removing them from Dean’s skull.

 

He rolled to his side, retching.

 

When he had emptied himself of the clammy horror of what he had witnessed, he lay back, searching her face through tear-weighted lashes.  “‘S that why you made a deal? To escape from that?”

She nodded, face solemn.

“Jesus, Bela. I’m sorry.  If I’d known….”

“You wouldn’t have been able to help,” she finished for him.  “You may have died trying, but we both know that there was nothing you could have done.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

“I know.”  She smiled, and his heart broke.  “But guess what?”

He furrowed his brow.

“They’re here.  I got to torture them.”

Her grin was vibrant with malice and lust.

Dean swallowed.  “That’s...good? I guess?”

She laughed, and the beauty of it hurt his soul.  “Yes, it was good. And do you know what else is good?”

Her eyes twinkled, and there was no evil in them, just a mischievous glee.  “Alastair said that I can do whatever I want with you.”

Fear rose, threatening to choke him, but Dean swallowed it back.   _You deserve it, Winchester.  You let the hounds have her.  Didn’t make any effort to save her._

 

She snapped her fingers, and he was not only whole, uninjured --

 

He was also fully clothed.

 

In a tuxedo, no less.

 

He looked down at himself, confused.

She sidled up to him, sliding her knee between his thighs.  “I’ve wanted to peel you out of this thing ever since I first saw you wearing it.”

He was instantly erect, mouth dry, heart racing.  “Bela, I -- “

She placed a manicured nail against his lips.  “Shhhh. This is _my_ fantasy, not yours. Now shut up and kiss me.”

He did, tentative at first, expecting her to turn into something horrific, inflict some new atrocity on his recently restored body.

But her lips were warm, her tongue soft, and his cock had a short memory.

 

_Regrets are for later._

 

He slid one hand into her hair, cradling her skull so he could deepen the kiss.  At the same time his other hand snaked behind her, fingers spread to cover her lower back and part of her ass, pressing her to him.

She moaned, twining her arms around his neck, and ground her pelvis against him.

She stepped back.  “Are you ready, Dean?”

 

They were in the room.

 

Abbie’s room.

 

_What the hell?_

 

Bela gave him a wicked smile, then pulled the chair away from the vanity.  She hitched her dress up to her waist, sat on the edge of the seat, and spread her legs.  

She hooked a finger at him.  “Come on, now. No need to make it harder on yourself.”

 

_This is all kinds of fucked up._

 

But he went to stand before her and, not able to figure out logistically how someone as large as he was could lay across her lap with her legs spread like that, he knelt, trusting her to guide him.

“Good boy.”  She pressed down on the top of his skull, and suddenly he was in familiar territory.

He skimmed the velvet of her inner thigh with his lips as he pushed her dress aside.  The heady sweetness of her musk overwhelmed him, and he moaned as he brought his mouth to the crotch of her panties, finding them already wet.

He teased her through the cloth, tongue stiff to press between her folds, teeth scraping gently.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, and the barrier disappeared.

He groaned, tongue hot against slippery folds, mouth watering.  He sucked on her clit, then lapped at it before moving lower, seeking out the source of the intoxicating moisture that he couldn’t get enough of --  

 

She pulled him away, struggling for control.  “Not yet!” She was breathless.

 

He sat back on his heels, brain reeling, wanting nothing more than to go right back in.

“My god, you’re good at that.  But I’m not ready yet.”

He wiped a hand across the slickness coating the lower  half of his face, holding her gaze as he sucked her nectar from his fingers.

She moaned, writhing.  “You are so, so naughty.”  She patted one thigh. “Over my knee, naughty boy.”

He did as she asked, forearms bracing his upper body, knees nearly touching so that he had to spread his feet to rest on his toes.  

 

His erection pressed against her thigh.

 

She ran her palm over his trouser-clad backside.  “You be a good boy, Dean, and I’ll make sure to reward you when we’re through.”

“Yes ma’am.”  Sex and uncertainty roughened his voice.

She brought her palm down and he jumped.

The sting was just short of painful, and his instinctive motion drove his cock along her thigh.  

 

_Oh, shit. I could cum this way. Would she be mad? What would she do?_

 

Her hand rose and fell, the blows perfectly spaced so that each slap could register fully, both in pain and in pleasure, before the next one fell.  The friction against his shaft had him leaking pre-cum and he gritted his teeth, battling his impending orgasm.

Mercifully, the torture ended.  “Stand up.”

 

He obeyed.

 

She gripped him through the thin material of his tuxedo pants, and he bit back a moan.  “You liked that, didn’t you, Dean?”

He nodded, eyes closed, sweat standing out on his brow.  “Yes ma’am.”

She chuckled.  “You are such a naughty, naughty boy.  Aren’t you, Dean?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Say it.”  Her voice had taken on a sharp edge.

His eyes flew open.  “W-what?”

She squeezed, and he moaned.  “Tell me what a bad boy you are, Dean.”

His brain lurched.  This was outside his knowledge base.  “I’m…I’m a very naughty boy.”

His uncertainty came through.  

Her eyes demanded more.

“I...I want to...I want to do things to you.  Naughty things.”

Her pupils widened, and the tip of her tongue appeared, wetting her lips.

 

 _Bingo_.

 

“Show me.”  Her voice was a low rasp.

He lowered his mouth to hers, licking her lips before delving inside to tease her tongue and stroke the roof of her mouth.  He pulled away, sucking on her ear lobe, then her neck as he lowered himself to his knees.

He trailed kisses over her collar bone, thumbs circling her erect nipples through the silk of her dress until it, like her underwear, disappeared.

He attacked her breasts, kneading and stroking one with his hand while his mouth worshipped the other.  

He dropped down, intending to bury his head between her thighs, finish what he’d started there, but she gripped his hair, pulling him back up.

 

“You are a very, very bad boy.  What should I do with you, Dean?  What do naughty boys need?”

 

He trembled, a mix of fear and desire, certain that he knew what was coming.

“Stand up, Dean.  Hands on your head.”

He obeyed, breath coming in short gasps.

She stood, naked body sliding up his tuxedo.

Hot breath ghosted along the skin of his neck, and he bit his lip.

She used  her teeth to tug his bow tie free.

Her fingers undid the buttons on his shirt, and her mouth followed the trail of flesh that action exposed.  She tugged the tail of his shirt free, working until the garment was completely open and the feeling of her mouth on the flesh of his abdomen, so close to his cock, had Dean nearly mindless with need.

She spread his shirt, pushing the tuxedo jacket aside as well, and took a moment to just look at him.

“My god, you are beautiful.”  The pads of her fingers stroked him, nails scraped gently, and his body tensed as he fought the urge to press her face into his groin.

Her tongue delved beneath his waistband as her fingers made short work of his belt buckle.

The hook and zipper came next, and his erection was briefly free, disappearing almost immediately into the velvet heat of her mouth.

He gasped, entire body jerking as his knees buckled, then locked again.

She slid her hands up his thighs, then curled them around his hips, stroking his bare ass before pressing into him, forcing his swollen length into her mouth, down her throat.

 

_Gonna cum can’t fight it feels so good_

 

She pulled away, sliding back onto her chair, and patted her thigh.  

He shuddered as he returned to his former position, bare skin of his very wet cock now nestled firmly against the equally naked flesh of Bela’s thigh.

He rested his forearms on the floor, fingers laced over his skull, digging his forehead into carpeting as he fought for control of his body.

 

_Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum_

 

The sharp sting of her palm on his bare ass would have hurt if he hadn’t been so far gone.  Nerve endings primed for orgasm sparked, sending an intense jolt of pure pleasure straight through him, igniting his prostate before lighting up his cock, releasing a bolus of precum that eased the skin-on-skin glide of his hips instinctively jerking away from the punishing hand.

 

“Bela.”  The name was a plea, _I’m going to cum please stop feels so good_ clearly conveyed in that single word,

 

And she laughed.  “You better not, Dean.  You don’t want to know what happens to naughty boys who cum before they are told to.”

And her palm rained down, blow after blow driving him into closer and closer to orgasm, and he gritted his teeth, dug his nails into the carpet, bit his lip, tensed everything, pushed up on his toes to decrease the friction, trying so hard to be a good boy --

 

He sagged as the torment ceased, nearly crying his relief.

 

“Very, very good, Dean,” she purred, palm gliding soothingly over the bright red skin of his ass.

 

He couldn’t stop trembling.

 

“Are you ready for your reward?”

“Yes!”  It was a gasping sob.  “Please, ma’am. Please.”   _I can’t take much more_.

“On the bed.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He stumbled, legs shaking, and fell into place.  

“On your back,” she commanded, and he rolled over, pushing himself to the center of the bed.

She crawled up his body, stopping when her hips straddled his. She pushed at the garments clinging to his torso impatiently, and he hurried to help her free his arms.  She took a moment to appreciate all that lay before her, tracing the delicious heat of well-defined muscles with both palms.

 

“Hands on your head.  Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

“Yes ma’am.”

 

His chest was so tight, it hurt to breathe.

 

She shifted, taking him into her in one exquisite downward stroke, and he almost couldn’t stop himself from gripping  her hips.

Instead he curled forward, arms crushing his own skull, abdominal muscles cording, teeth bared in a look that could have been pain as he found himself, once more, fighting to hold off his orgasm.

Bela held herself very still, waiting for him to relax.

As soon as he did -- spine uncurling, breath rasping in a raw throat -- she squeezed, grinding her hips in a circle, and he cried out, arching back, turning his head to bite his own arm.

She chuckled, and he gasped -- “ _Bela_!” voice desperate.

 

“Soon, Dean.  Soon. Just hold on a little bit longer.”

 

She seated herself deeply, shifting to stretch one of her legs out behind her, nestled between Dean’s.  The other she drew forward until her calf lay on his chest, the curve of her ankle against that of his shoulder.

He gasped, eyes wide.  “What are you --”

“I was a gymnast, Dean.  I believe you call this a 'front split' in the States.”

He closed his eyes, body straining.  “‘S tight. So tight.”

“Give me your hands, Dean.”

She positioned him so that she could brace herself on his upturned palms.  Her head dropped back, jaw slack as she raised and lowered her body, ready to get lost in the sensations she was using the gorgeous hunter to create.

 

“Bela.   _Please_.”  

 

His tortured whine snapped her out of her reverie, and she glared down at him.

He was flushed from where they joined to his forehead, body slick with sweat, face contorted with the effort of obeying her demand to deny his orgasm until she commanded otherwise.

 

“Disobey me and I will auction you off to the  highest bidder. Do you hear me, Dean Winchester?”  

 

“Yes ma’am!”  The anger in her voice and the fear that her threat induced bought him some time, and he clung to the image of an unending line of demons, cash in one hand, dicks in the other, waiting to place  their bids.

But when she picked up her pace and her breath started stuttering in her throat, he had to look, and the expression of bliss coupled with her low, rolling moans, fingers contracting down on his, internal muscles spasming around him rhythmically, it was too much, even for the threat of a demon horde, and his guttural shout shredded his throat as he curled up, then arched back, ecstasy rippling through him in wave after tortuous wave until he slumped, shuddering, mind a white cloud of pleasure.

 

He eventually swam back to himself, lifting heavy limbs to wrap them around Bela’s tremoring form, holding her to him tightly.

He felt the tears sliding down the sides of his face, but didn’t wonder at them, knowing that it was just gratitude for a gift he had no right to expect or accept.  

He ran his palms over her back, stroking the fragile yet painfully strong being in his arms, the words “I love you” pressing on his throat, wanting nothing more than to take away her pain and her memories of abuse and give her nothing but happiness for the rest of her days.  

Many, many days.

 

She sat up abruptly, and he wiped at his eyes hastily, mind racing to find the words to hide what he was feeling.  “Damn. That was so good I came out my eyeballs.”

 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.  “Did I tell you that you could cum?”

 

He blinked.   _Is she serious_?

“Well, no, but since you were, I thought --”

“I told you once that you should try not to think.  You aren’t very good at it. Remember?”

 

_It’s more role play.  Gotta be. Damn, this chic is insatiable._

 

“I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.  I promise.”

 

She swung her leg over him, standing up from the bed, and Dean winced as his dick was abruptly abandoned to curl in on itself in the cold air.  

“I don’t care if it does.”  She shook out her hair and was instantly attired in a business suit.  “That will be a matter for you and your next master to discuss.”

“Bela -- “

 

She snapped her fingers, and he was back in Bobby’s hemp restraints, rough knot stretching his jaws wide.

  
  
  
  



	7. The Highest Bidder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty awful. Like really, really awful if you actually try to visualize the end, so...I don't recommend doing that. 
> 
> Just sayin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> User24601: this one is ALL you!

* * *

 

“Oh, my.”  The she-demon strolled around her prize, razor-edged nails trailing blood in the wake of her passing.  “You know what I call this, Dean?”

With the knot gagging him, Dean could not have answered if he’d wanted to.  

She paused behind him, her appreciative “Mm, mm, mm” resonating with the growing fear in his chest.

 

_ Doesn’t matter not real no matter what she does you’ll wake up whole again _

_ Yeah, and it will start over.  Or worse. _

_ I can’t do this anymore.   _

 

_ I can’t. _

 

* * *

  
  


Alastair appeared, ignoring the other demon’s indignant, “Hey!” as he knelt before his toy.

“Open your eyes, Dean,” the sibilant voice called gently.

Instead Dean squeezed them shut tightly, trying to will his tears away.

 

_ Can’t can’t can’t _

 

Alastair stroked tender fingers through the  hunter’s sweat-thick hair. “Tomorrow doesn’t have to be like this, dear boy.  You can wake up, whole and new, and stay off the rack. No more pain, no more torment.”

 

He waited.

 

_ Can’t can’t I can’t  _

 

“Take my blade, Dean.  One soul. That’s all you have to do: every day, start just one soul.  The rest of the day will be yours.” He leaned in close, voice a seductive lisp in Dean’s immobilized ear.  “You can eat, sleep, fuck -- even drive a certain black sixty-seven Impala that I know you’ve been missing. All you have to do is say ‘yes’, Dean.”

He touched the knot, and it faded away.

The blade winked enticingly as he rotated it in his fingers, a comfortable distance from the clouded verdance of Dean’s spectacular eyes.

“What do you say, Dean?  Have you had enough torture?  Are you ready to reap the rewards for all of the sacrifices you’ve made?”

 

_ Sacrifices. _

_ Sammy. _

_ I miss Sammy. _

 

“I can arrange for you to see him.”

 

Dean closed his eyes and let the tears fall.

 

_ I wanna see Sammy. _

 

And he pictured himself greeting his brother.

In Hell.

Bloodied blade in his hand.

 

“I can’t.”  It was a despairing sob, full of regret.  

 

Alastair stood, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.  “Your choice.” He turned to Meg. “Let me know if you run out of ideas.”

 

And he was gone.

 

* * *

  
  
“You always were a glutton for punishment, weren’t you, Dean?”

She snapped her fingers and the intricate harness fell away, leaving the hunter standing with his arms around a thick post, rough fibers abrading his bound wrists.

 

He heard the telltale whisper of leather cutting air before fire detonated across his back, air hissing through his teeth in reaction as his torso arched, seeking escape.

There was no pause to allow one strike to peak before the  next fell. Instead, each came in rapid succession, falling with metronomic regularity, fire burning hotter and wider with each passing second, blood slicking his skin, liquefying his limbs, abrasive gnaw of wood almost pleasant by contrast as his body slid down the rough-hewn post, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t scream or beg or --

 

An unexpected silence informed him that the demon had paused.  The raw misery that was his back continued to shriek, feeling nonexistent lashes scald exposed nerve endings, when it was in fact no more than the normally undetectable flow of air through the room that fanned the flames of his torment.

 

The man's head hung limply, eyes once again closed, breath stuttering in his chest.

He felt the space around him thicken with her approach.

Was too weary to care.

 

She forced what felt like a crown of barbed wire over his scalp, bringing a pain so miniscule and distant compared to what had come before that Dean might have laughed if his soul had not retreated so far into itself.

 

The demon snapped her fingers and he was once again screaming, back arching away from splintered wood as he found himself lying prone on the beam that he had embraced so tightly, arms outspread on an equally thick crossbeam, wrists strapped firmly to the rough surface.

 

Cold metal kissed his skin between strands of rope

And deep inside of him, terror contorted the fragmented remnants of the man's soul as he realized what the demon had planned.

 

“Couldn’t think of anything more fitting for such a pitiful, self-sacrificing pussy like you, Dean.”

She drove the first railroad spike through his wrist and into the cross beneath.  “All the times you’ve crucified yourself, Dean: this just feels like poetic justice.”

 

From its spot against the ceiling Dean’s soul covered its ears, desperate to prevent the gut-wrenching shrieks from penetrating as it watched its vessel being nailed to a cross.

 

* * *

 

“You look so close to perfect, I’m almost tempted to put a loincloth on you.”  Meg beamed up at him, fully satisfied with her living -- sort of -- sculpture.

 

From his position on the now vertical cross, Dean was able to observe the demon through slitted eyes without needing to raise his head.

 

_ Doesn’t matter how pleased she looks _ , he reminded himself.   _ She’s not done yet. _

 

He had given up cataloguing his injuries or even trying to decide which was causing the most torment.  From the barbs embedding themselves into his skull to the relentless incandescence of his back through the ragged throb of the metal impaling his wrists and feet, Dean’s misery was as all-encompassing as anything he could imagine.

 

Yet here he hung, nearly but not completely mindless, and from that he knew: 

_There will be more._

_ She’s not done with me yet. _

_ But soon.  Can’t take much more.   _

 

_ Be over soon. _

 

* * *

  
  


Meg leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, foot bobbing impatiently as she brought a cigarette to her lips.  She inhaled deeply, held the smoke, then squinted through it as she allowed her breath to trickle slowly from her nostrils.

Like Alastair, Meg had learned that in the right circumstances, a certain type of soul can dissociate itself from the tortured vessel that houses it.  

 

She was waiting for Dean’s to come back.

 

She sauntered over to him, the pleasant burn of tobacco filling her lungs, and blew a thick stream of smoke up into his face.

The man grimaced as he smothered a cough, turning his head away.

She smiled and she dropped her cigarette to the floor.

 

“Nice to see you back, Dean.  I have a special surprise for you.”

 

* * *

 

 

The she-demon stood close enough that her breath rifled the coarse perfection of the hunter's pubic hair, and her grin broadened.  “Glad I resisted the urge to slap that diaper on you. It’s going to make this next part so much easier.”

 

She fisted his soft member, stroking him lightly.

 

Dean forced his eyelids to separate, barely believing that fear could still germinate in his exhausted soul.

Yet as he watched her hand move, absorbed that anticipatory gleam in her coal-black eyes, dread welled.

She raised her free hand, turning it as she opened her fist.  “I brought a friend who would really like to play with you.”

 

The distinctive red head, black body, and yellow legs on the thick insect curled on the demon’s palm was immediately recognizable to the crucified man.

 

Meg noted the flash of recognition, and her dimples deepened.  “So, you’re familiar with the giant desert centipede, then?”

What had been a vague dread crystallized into full-blown terror as her open hand neared the one fisted around Dean's flaccid cock.

“This one is trained,” the demon informed him, a note of pride in her voice.  She emitted a short, sharp whistle, and Dean stared in horrified fascination as an endless number of golden limbs rippled, serpentine body uncoiling to a length that stretched along Meg’s forearm, nearly reaching the bend of her elbow.

“Ever heard of ‘urethral sounding’, Dean?  Cock-stuffing?”

Panic struck a second before the insect rested the first of its pointed feet on the head of his penis, and his soul fled his body shamelessly, watching in abject horror as the coal black body with its seemingly endless number of stark yellow appendages forced its way into the exquisitely sensitive tunnel of Dean’s urethra.

 

The caustic agony of venom delivered to such a dense concentration of unprotected nerve endings radiated outward in expanding waves of excruciation, absorbing and amplifying every insult that had come before --

 

And for the first time, it was not circulatory failure nor the complete destruction of his vessel that ended Dean’s day; 

 

It was the decisive collapse of a nervous system that had no other method for coping with such an unimaginable sensory overload.

  
  



End file.
